


Growing Pains

by Thwipp (Thwipp_Thwipp)



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Everyone is a University Student, Friends to Lovers, Harry is so smitten with Spider-Man like it's unbelieveable, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, M/M, Norman is a Douchebag, Peter Parker is Spider-Man, Peter is so smitten with Harry like it's unbelievable, Romance, Secret Identity, Side-Pairing Felicia/Ava, Side-Pairing Gwen/MJ, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thwipp_Thwipp/pseuds/Thwipp
Summary: As a favour to M.J., Harry acts as a lookout and takes photos of Spider-Man for M.J.’s Spider-Man blog. However, he never expected to become so enamoured by the vigilante web-shooter, and he certainly wasn't prepared for the events that would follow.





	1. I

In retrospect, balancing an umbrella on your shoulder whilst crouching on a roof in torrential rain was not one of Harold Theopolis Osborn’s finest moments. Especially not whilst trying to take pictures of some second-rate excuse for a superhero. In fact, Harry was _pretty_ sure that all the guy did was save cats from trees, or help the occasional senior citizen looking to cross the street.

So, definitely not the kind of hero you’d risk your life to take pictures of. The dude wore _latex_ , for crissakes! At least cool heroes like Captain America had padded armour and a hefty arsenal. Now that kind of get-up was _actually_ intimidating!

…but Mary-Jane had called in a favour. One that Harry should have made good on a long time ago. So, he figures his choice in the matter is hardly relevant at this point.

A shiver wracks through him. The air is frigid at this time of year, coating everything it touches with frost. The rain has begun to pool around his feet on the cobbled roof-top, soaking through his boots. Despite being wrapped in layers, his limbs feel icy stiff. The cold stem of the umbrella sticks to his cheek painfully, as it wobbles on his shoulder. At this point, it’s more likely his fingers will snap off than catching sight of Spider-Man and taking a picture of him.

Harry steels himself.

This wasn’t for him. He had to do this for Mary-Jane. Her blog was in danger, after all. With a particularly hefty paper due, she couldn’t stalk Spider-Man like she usually did. Luckily, with no impending assignments due himself, Harry _is_ free.

Though he just can’t quite believe that out of all the heroes Mary-Jane wanted to focus her blog on, she would choose _Spider-Man_. The dude was lame. No doubt about it.

Harry just doesn’t understand the _hype_.

Hell, even the great Norman Osborn was obsessed. He had taken to wandering around the penthouse, muttering underneath his breath about ‘spidermen’ and their ‘DNA’. Creepy, to be perfectly honest. That was nothing new though.

But what was so great about some gangly daredevil who liked saving cats anyway?

Suddenly, over the pour of the rain, Harry barely manages to register the sound of hurried footfalls. _Maybe it was Spider-Man!_ Hope rising in his chest, he looks up, only to see a stranger running straight at him.

Fear shoots through him and Harry suddenly wishes he hadn’t dismissed his bodyguard earlier in the evening. By now Lewis was likely at home with his family, and undoubtedly too far away to be of any help.

Harry backs up with a yelp, arms thrown out to distance himself from the crazed man.

It’s too late, however, as the thug barrels past him, shoving him harshly. The wind is knocked out of him as a throbbing ache erupts in his chest. Uncontrollably, he feels himself falling backwards from the force of the blow as his booted heel catches on the ice. The world turns harshly as Harry slips backwards. Gravity works its harsh magic as Harry’s heel catches on the brickwork and he topples off of the ledge.

Down, down he goes.

The wind whistles around him as the ground, many stories below, rushes to greet him. Harry’s screams are lodged firmly in his throat as the rushing air forcefully chokes his lungs. It is deafening; the roaring wind, the rush of adrenaline, the sound of his clothes rustling like a tree caught in a storm. His limbs flail around him helplessly as he spins through the air, perhaps trying even in these hopeless moments to catch onto something or someone.

How very lame.

Harry Osborn, pushed off of a roof. Dead at the tender age of nineteen. The tabloids would certainly lap it up eagerly enough. Norman would be disappointed, no doubt. No, not that Harry was dead, but that he had died so pathetically. _Tarnishing the Osborn name, yet again. Classic Harry._

Suddenly he is lurching to the side, as a strong arm winds around his belly and lifts him upwards. The ground rapidly shrinks and he groans in pain as he is pulled upwards, soaring through the air, held tightly in the arms of his saviour.

They land on another building,

Harry collapses into the man, clutching at his chest frantically, murmuring wildly. The world seems to sway around him uneasily. He shuts his eyes to block it all out. God, he needed a stiff drink or something.

“Hey, hey! You okay, man?”

Harry shakes his head - _no_ , _of course not, he’d nearly died_ \- pressing his forehead against the man’s shoulder. He is still hyperventilating.

“Don’t worry! I caught you, you’re fine!”

The hilariously gruff put-on voice of the man is what finally snaps him out of his reverie. It is as if the man is disguising his voice, but straining with the effort at every word. As if he were trying to appear bigger, or tougher. Like a very bad imitation of Nolan’s Batman. _Pffffttttttttttttttt._

With that funny thought in his brain, Harry finally brings himself to look at his saviour.

_Typical._

Osborn-luck – or rather _Harry_ Osborn’s luck. Getting saved by the one hero he did not think much of. Utterly embarrassing.

Yikes, he’d never hear the end of it from M.J.…

_“Oh my g-_ H-Harry Osborn?!”

Harry blinks and nods dumbly. Did even the likes of _Spider-Man_ get star struck?

Suddenly, Harry is being enveloped tightly in strong arms and being pushed against Spider-Man’s chest. Harry gasps in surprise, momentarily stunned by the affectionate gesture. Personally, he did not get hugged often. What was _really_ strange though, was the fact that _Spider-Man_ was hugging him. Did Spider-Man hug everyone he rescued? Was he one of _those_ people? Weird.

Overcoming his shock, Harry attempts to pull back from the tight embrace. He hits the man as he struggles to breath around the material of Spider-Man’s gauzy suit. Almost reluctantly, Spider-Man lets him go.

Harry stumbles back, hair askew and already plastering to his forehead from the rain. With an unstable sway in his stance, he habitually brushes himself off. Perhaps to retain some semblance of Osborn-grace, which was perhaps one roof-top tumble too far of a failed venture at this point.

He looks at Spider-Man, and is slightly surprised.

Spider-Man is much taller than Harry had anticipated, and bulkier, if the very-figure hugging latex suit was anything to go by. It is a garish red and blue costume, with wide white eyes that are almost friendly looking, as well as web designs for decoration. It looks well-made, but ridiculous all the same. If Harry was not feeling utterly traumatised, he might have laughed.

“Uhhh, thanks.” Harry manages breathlessly. There is not much more to be said.

“No problem, man.” Spider-Man said cheerfully. He peers over the side of the building before adding, rather mournfully, “I didn’t manage to save your umbrella though, sorry.”

Harry waved him off, feeling surprisingly bemused, “No, no. It’s cool. I’m already drenched anyway.”

“...so, you’ll just buy another one?”

Spider-Man sounds suspiciously wry. Harry indulges him with a laugh.

“I’m an _Osborn_ , I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Spider-Man laughs, before slapping himself on the forehead lightly, “Oh shoot!” he yelped, “I have to go catch that bad guy! You can get down by yourself, right?”

Harry nodded, smiling shyly, “Yeah, I think I can manage.”


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is Not Happy.

In the university hub, Harry collapses into the nearest couch, scaring the student next to him. Harry ignores their scandalised gasp, and instead tilts his head back and closes his eyes, already feeling the onset of a headache. He has completely rugged up – wrapped in many layers with a big green coat, as well as a particularly warm scarf – with no fear of overdoing it.

Clearly staying out at an absurd hour last night, in horrible weather to boot, had not done miracles for his already fragile health. At this point, he is not taking any more chances. Getting sick meant he would not be able to do uni work. Not being able to do uni work meant bad grades and a very grumpy Norman Osborn. Grumpy Norman Osborn meant… well, not pleasant things.

With no reaction, the other student stands up with a huff and walks off. Harry cracks open one eye, only to see they are gone, and grins victoriously. An entire couch to himself. _Nice._

A harsh laugh sounds. Harry turns his head, only to see his bodyguard Lewis standing behind him, casually flipping through a newspaper and drinking coffee.

“What?”

“I don’t know how you did that, but it was impressive all the same.” Lewis said gruffly, approval apparent in his voice.

Harry shrugged, “Osborn-talent, Lewis. You should know this.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, or so you keep saying…oh, hey, isn’t that your friend over there?”

Harry looks up, only to discover that Lewis is very correct. Making a beeline right towards them, is none other than Harry’s best friend, Mary-Jane Watson. She’s a redhead with a kind face, and a killer sense of style. She also happens to have a knack for journalism, specialising in Spider-Man (and on the offside cryptids – Harry doesn’t understand and doesn’t try to either). All in all, she’s a great friend and Harry doesn’t know what he’d do without her.

“Harry!” Mary-Jane called, waving him down; “Did you get the pictures?”

Harry hikes his scarf up further around his face, mumbling. He half-hoped the couch would open up and swallow him right through and into the floor. Anything to avoid disappointing M.J. He’s out of luck, however, as M.J. promptly sits down beside him with a confused look on her face.

“What was that?”

A defeated sigh escapes Harry’s lips, “…I said no. It was too dark. I’m sorry.”

Mary-Jane looks crestfallen, “Oh. Damn.”

Suddenly, Harry feels like the scum of the earth.

“Uhh, but I did see him…” he offered hesitantly.

“What?! Tell me all about it, Harry!” Mary-Jane cried, practically vibrating with excitement. “How close did he get? What was he doing?”

“Woah, woah, _woah_. Calm down. It’s not that exciting, trust me.”

“Shit. Yeah, sorry. But please, go on!”

“Uhh… he kind of _uhhhsavedme_.” Harry mumbled into his scarf, cheeks burning with the embarrassing memory.

_“What?!”_

“He was chasing some thug across the roof-tops. The dude knocked me down, I slipped off the roof, so Spider-Man swung down and saved me.” Harry muttered, waving his hand flippantly, as if being saved by the local vigilante-cum-superhero was just the norm.

“Holy shit. Do you think I could get an interview? With you, I mean. I’d keep it anonymous of course.”

Harry nodded wearily, “Uh, yeah, sure thing M.J. I owe you one anyway. I didn’t get those pics for you after all.”

Mary-Jane beamed, “Great! Also, did you hear there was a break-out last night? A few thugs escaped from The Raft!”

Harry sits up a little straighter in his seat, “Huh. Do you think that dude that almost killed me was one of them? I wasn’t too far from there, if I remember correctly. Maybe Spider-Man was chasing them?”

Mary-Jane shrugged, “I’m not sure. If you give me all the details, I could do a little digging and find out. It would certainly add more depth to the story!”

Harry nodded, barely paying attention. He was just so tired… and Mary-Jane got so obsessed that it all seemed to meld into one long nooooooooooooooote and ahhhhh, _sleep_.

* * *

 

By the end of the week, the incident has been pushed to the farthest corners of Harry’s mind. University work has caught up to him, as it is wont to do. Counting three impending essays, as well as two upcoming tests, he feels utterly overwhelmed.

As a Spider-Man obsessed blogger, however, M.J. is not ready to let Harry forget the incident at all.

“You won’t believe how many of my followers want to talk to you!” Mary-Jane exclaimed, sitting down to join Harry’s table at the library; “They were really excited to hear about your experience!”

“Really? The dude is a suited-up vigilante. That’s all. I think they’re overreacting.” Harry said coolly, trying to focus more on his study than the topic at hand. He still wasn’t impressed with Spider-Man’s antics. Even if he had saved him…

“ _Tsk_. He saved your life, Harry! I certainly don’t think they are overreacting after _that_.” Mary-Jane said, looking very indignant. _Whoops_. It was easy to forget how defensive Mary-Jane was of Spider-Man. Then again, blogging almost 24-7 about his activities was bound to do that to a person.

“I’m just saying, they shouldn’t put him on a pedestal.”

“I’m sort of obligated to after he saved the life of my best-friend!”

Harry sighed, waving her off, “Okay, okay, you have a point. I don’t want to invalidate that, M.J. I guess I just don’t like the guy, is all.”

Mary-Jane looks thoughtful, but backs off, and instead takes out her own books and laptop to study. They fall into a comfortable silence as they work, occasionally asking questions about their study or making simple small-talk. Nothing too complicated that would distract from the task at hand.

Despite their best efforts, however, their study is interrupted.

“Hey M.J.!”

Both Harry and Mary-Jane look up from their pile of books to see Peter Parker looming over them. He is a tall, gangly Sciences student with a shocking mess of brown hair that sticks up awkwardly. He also happens to be a major asshole. Harry hates him.

“Just wanted to congratulate you.” He rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet, grinning widely at them both. Harry merely glares but Mary-Jane furrows her brow, clearly confused.

“Huh? On what, Pete?”

“You scored a great interview for your blog! Yanno, that anon who got saved by Spider-Man!” Peter rambled, hand running through his hair awkwardly, “What a great read!”

Mary-Jane blushes, now grinning too, “Aww, thanks Pete! The most trouble was convincing the guy to give me the interview! He doesn’t like Spider-Man very much!”

“What? _Really?_ ” Peter laughed, pulling a face, “He’s probably just ruffled from the experience. I bet he loves the guy now! Who wouldn’t?”

Harry hates that stupid laugh. That stupid arrogant sound. Like Peter Parker knew bloody everything. Well he sure as fuck didn’t. Not in this case. Time to put the asshole in his place.

“Well, it sounds to me like, that if Spider-Man hadn’t been out playing the vigilante, then the poor sod wouldn’t have fallen off the roof in the _first place_.” Harry said airily, still glaring at Peter.

“That-that’s a valid point, I guess. But if not him, then uhhhh… someone else, am I right?”

Mary-Jane looks between them, coughing awkwardly.

Harry doesn’t bother to keep the venom from his voice, “People shouldn’t play god. The police are there for a reason. When people start taking justice into their own hands, then soon everyone starts doing it! Systems are there for a reason!”

It’s just argument for argument’s sake. Harry hates Peter Parker. Any excuse to get a rise out of the nerdy piece of shit will do.

“You don’t really believe that,” Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Better believe it.” Harry sneered, all but ready to jump out of his seat and punch Peter in his perfect teeth. Any excuse to beat him bloody, is a good excuse.

Mary-Jane sits up instead, grabbing Harry’s arm with a vice-like grip, “Sorry, Peter, but Harry and I have a lecture to attend. We have to run!”

With that, she drags Harry out of the hub. Lewis shoots Peter a pitying look, before following after them with a heavy sigh, leaving Peter standing about awkwardly.

* * *

 

Only when they are completely clear of the library, does M.J. let go of Harry’s arm. He’s angry to say the least.

“We don’t have a lecture, M.J.!” He hissed.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you trying to start a brawl in the library, Harry!”

“…he deserves it.”

Dutifully, Lewis makes an affirming grunt in the back of his throat and Mary-Jane glares at him.

She turns to smile at Harry sadly, “It’s been nearly a year, Harry. You guys go way back. When are you going to forgive him?”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Harry snarled, fists curling. “I tried! He just let me down over and over again! He’s a fucking disappointment!”

A sudden silence descends over them and Harry immediately feels embarrassed. His heart is beating a bit too fast in his chest and he feels uncomfortably hot beneath his collar. Distantly, he realises that a cold sweat has begun to prickle over his neck. He hated these moments, when his temper finally burst, it was too much.

Finally, Harry musters the strength to look up, only to see shocked people looking away, before continuing to mill around them. Mary-Jane looks startled, if not a bit hurt.

“Shit… sorry.” Harry mumbled, not quite meeting her gaze.

“It’s alright.” Mary-Jane said quietly, “But, please, if not for him, please try to get some sense of closure for yourself? You’re starting to worry me.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’m serious, Harry.” Mary-Jane said sternly, “Now let me buy you a hot drink, okay?”

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.  
> but no srsly. harry my boy stawp.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the lovely reviews so far, everyone!  
> enjoy!

Harry is beyond tired when he finally arrives home, back at the Osborn apartments. Adjusting to university life had seemed like it would be easy, but now the unruly schedule and increased workload had just made it all the more difficult for him. Hell, trying to get back into a regular sleeping pattern was a whole new ballpark. At least with school his sleep had been fairly consistent – not so with university.

He turns to his bodyguard, “Okay, Lewis, you can head off if you want.”

Lewis shakes his head, “No can do, Harry. I have to get permission from your father first.”

“What?! Since when?”

“New rules, apparently.” Lewis said, tapping away at his phone, “He wouldn’t give me the specifics, but something tells me he thinks you’re more at risk now you’re at university.”

“I’m already half-way through the year! Why now?”

“That’s something you’ll need to ask him about, I’m afraid.” Lewis said, following after Harry as they entered the elevator to the top floors.

* * *

After years of silence and awkward conversation, dinner with Norman Osborn has always been a strange event. For Norman to be home for dinner is rare enough, but for him to sound interested in anything concerning Harry is stranger still.

“Harry,” Norman said in between small bites of his food, “I haven’t seen your little friend, Peter, around here lately.”

It is a question masked as a statement. Harry fears that Norman would physically combust if he were to ever show concern in a direct way, like a _normal_ parent. Perhaps he had done it once, and had accidentally scared Harry’s Mom to death. Norman didn’t like to talk about it, so Harry wasn’t quite sure. It was a possibility. Stranger things had happened.

“Uh, we’ve both been busy, Dad. The university is a big place and his timetable is all over the place.” Harry half-lied, wiping at his mouth delicately with a napkin, and very deliberately not mentioning the fact that Peter hadn’t been round in _over a year_.

Norman chewed at his food slowly, appearing to be deep in thought. He swallows.

“Ah.” There is a brief silence, and then: “It’s a pity. You’d do well with a smart boy like him close by. You’ve just never been as sharp-minded…”

Harry grits his teeth, but remains silent. Back-handed comments were Norman’s speciality, and Harry had quickly learned to never react to them. Better to suffer in silence.

“Hmmm.” Harry nodded instead, already ignoring Norman’s longwinded spiel about Harry being a family disappointment.

“…are his aunt and uncle well?”

Harry paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, momentarily stunned.

“…uh, his uncle is dead, Dad. It’s been about three years.” he said tentatively.

“Oh. That’s right. But is his aunt well?”

“…I haven’t got a clue. I’ll ask Peter next time I see him, okay?” Harry lied again, picking up his spoon.

Norman let the barest hint of a smile cross his features, in what ends up looking like a grimace. They sit in silence for a good while, as Harry struggles to process their conversation, as well as how to approach his father about the weird ‘curfew’. In all their years together, Norman had never instituted strict rules but had only expected Harry to ‘not shame the Osborn name’ or to ‘disgrace himself’. Whereas other kids were allowed to mess-up, Harry had been expected, from birth, to just be good and quiet, or if he was to rebel, to do so well out of sight.

It hurt that Norman didn’t care much about Harry’s wellbeing, but rather whether Harry was going to embarrass the family name. Of course, Harry had just had to deal with it, like everything else. It was infuriating.

With renewed irritation flooding through is veins, Harry opts to just ask his father right out about it:

“…Lewis tells me that I don’t have any power to dismiss him anymore. That he has to ask _you_ for permission to leave.”

Norman’s brow furrows ever so slightly, as if the very act of being questioned by his son was reprehensible. _Not surprisingly_ , Harry thought.

“Yes. That’s correct.” Norman said finally.

“Why?”

“The streets aren’t safe, Harry. This city gets more and more wretched with each day.” Norman said simply, still paying more attention to his food than the son sitting across from him.

“But in our own house? I can’t tell him to leave?! Surely, we’re safe here, what with the security detail?”

“Harry.” Norman is glaring now, his cutlery still; “I won’t say anymore on the matter. You’ll just have to accept it.”

Harry grits his teeth, but doesn’t answer.

Arguing with Norman never resolved anything, it just made things worse. He’d learnt that the hard way, over the years. Of course, he wanted so badly to yell and scream, to protest! But Norman would never yield.

…gosh, he needed a smoke.

* * *

Only when Norman has finished his dinner and gone back out to the office, is Harry finally free to take a breather out on the balcony. He hated this constant tip-toeing around Norman, but if he was to live with his father he would just have to put up with it. He’d successfully done so for the past nineteen-years, but that didn’t mean it got any easier. If anything, Norman had gotten _worse_ over the years.

So, with far too much gusto, Harry throws on his silk kimono and heads out onto the balcony. When he lights up a cigarette and just inhales the smoke, he feels his nerves instantly settle and his breathing slows. It’s terrible, that it’s come to this, but it works so goddamned well that Harry just can’t bring himself to give it up.

In fact, he’s so caught up in the experience that he fails to notice the second person appearing on the balcony.

“That’s a bad habit, you’ve got there, Mr. Osborn.”

_“Fuck-”_ Harry jumped, dropping the cigarette in his surprise. “What the hell?!”

To his horror _, Spider-Man_ has perched himself dangerously upon the banister, head tilted in what looks like curiosity. Harry can’t tell exactly. Stupid mask.

“You’re trespassing!” Harry sputtered, unable to disguise his shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I make it a habit to check up on people I’ve helped out.”

 “What? Seriously?”

Honestly, it _reeked_ of bullshit. Why the hell had Spider-Man just shown up on his balcony? Had he decided that Harry Osborn was a public menace and needed to be taken to the police? …had he seen that interview and wanted revenge for Harry’s angry rambling? Oh god, he didn’t want to die at the hands of a guy wearing a freaking leotard!

“Yeah! Isn’t getting thrown off a roof just a little bit traumatic?”

Harry blinked, “Well, I guess when you put it like that…”

Spider-Man laughs, shifting slightly as if to make himself more comfortable.

_How very pretentious, to make himself at home in the Osborn apartments!_ Harry thought, folding his arms angrily. Why, Spider-Man was acting as if he’d been here before! And that was a disturbing thought indeed.

“…so, are you doing well? Looks like you’re not too afraid of heights, at the very least. How many floors up are we?” Spider-Man continued, seeming to sense Harry’s growing impatience.

Harry shrugged, lighting up another cigarette with trembling hands, “…fuck, maybe twenty. You tell me, _you_ got up the hard way.”

“I’m not too sure about that. It wasn’t that difficult.”

…of course, it wasn’t. Harry wasn’t sure how they did it, but superheroes sure could take a beating. He wishes he could be that strong. Then maybe he could finally tell Norman to get lost without serious repercussions… _nice_.

“So, have I ticked all the boxes? Am I fit and healthy enough for you?” Harry takes a moment to blow smoke at Spider-Man, as if to challenge him to say anything else.

“You should probably quit smoking, but yeah, I’m satisfied.”

Harry rolls his eyes, before turning to go inside, “Good. I can’t talk to you all night.”

“Hold up, I got you a little something!”

Harry paused, failing to mask his surprise, “What?”

“Here you go!”

With that, Spider-Man pushes something into his free hand.

It’s a tiny little bobble-head, made with cheap plastic and a particularly horrible paint-job. The coil is overstretched, making the ridiculous thing fly hazardously in all directions. Despite its kitschy appearance, it is obvious enough who the figure is.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Really? You got me a bobble-head of yourself?”

Spider-Man shrugged, “I can’t keep an eye on you twenty-four seven, unfortunately. So, little Spider-Man here will do that for me! That way I can always look out for you!”

The superhero sounds awkward, as he shifts side to side on the banister, as if trying to stave away his nerves. It is strangely intimate to see him acting like this.

Something in Harry melts a little and he smiles, still peering at the bobble-head, “It’s kind of cute I guess.”

Clapping his hands together, Spider-Man whoops excitedly, very nearly toppling over the banister.

“I knew you’d like it!”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Hey!”

Harry ignores him, suddenly deep in thought.

“Hey, Spider-Guy, is it alright if I mention this to my friend? She writes a blog about you. The interview would really help her out – she wants to try her hand at journalism, yanno? It’s nothing official – just fan-site stuff, so you probably won’t get into trouble with _The Daily Bugle_ again…”

For a moment, Spider-Man is silent, standing motionless upon the balcony. Seeming to look right at Harry, thinking. Harry shuffles his feet nervously, suddenly shy. This attention was strange, too focused.

“Y-yeah, yeah that’s fine, Harry. You go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Every night for a week after that, Harry makes a habit of lingering out on his balcony long after his cigarette has been snuffed out. He ignores the biting cold breeze and sits in his wicker chair, with a blanket wrapped tightly around himself, watching the blinking lights and towering buildings, listening to the sound of sirens, people yelling, and the angry hum of traffic. There is a strange harmony to it all.

Even so, Harry himself is on edge. His stomach jumps strangely with every startling movement, and he breathes in sharply with every out of the ordinary sound.

He waits, until it gets too cold to bare, and then retreats inside.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey have you guys seen the new Spider-Man cartoon? The animation is pretty awful – as in eyes floating across faces and shit – but the central focus is apparently on Harry + Peter’s friendship (so… PARKSBORN CITY EYYYYY). AND NORMAN IS AWFUL (sort of?). I like the art style – it kind of reminds me of Voltron? Only much less polished, I guess. Still, 3 eps in and I’m loving the Parksborn.
> 
> also, thanks to everyone so far for reviewing/leaving kudos. I appreciate it a lot!

Harry doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s starting to think that M.J.’s obsessive Spider-Man blogging is understandable. He certainly hadn’t wanted to become one of _those_ people, but after a week of whimsical nights spent out on the balcony in the hopes that he’d spot the wall-crawler, he’s starting to realise that he may, in fact, have a problem.

Not to mention that the dingy little bobblehead that Spider-Man gave him is currently sitting pretty on Harry’s bedside table, and he can’t bring himself to move it or throw it away.

Oh no.

Oh, god no.

He’s a Spider-Man fan.

* * *

Harry is glad that the university library is open all hours. Sometimes Norman was just too unbearable… of course, sneaking out had been no mean feat. Gosh, Harry wasn’t sure why his father was being so goddamned militant lately. Why should he start caring now about where Harry went? It was just plain weird.

And this way, he could do some work and even start mapping out potential ‘Spider-Man Hot-Spot’ locations. M.J. had kindly provided him with many hot-spots of Spider-Man activity, some of them she had discovered herself, and some from the Spider-Man fan community online. In just Queens alone, there were hundreds and hundreds of Spider-Man fans, all colluding and throwing out theories and telling stories of their own Spider-Man experiences.

It was sort of cool, Harry couldn’t deny that. However, why were these people so obsessed with Spider-Man when superior heroes like Captain America and Iron-Man were flying about? Now _they_ were superheroes.

…sure, Spider-Man was okay, friendly, maybe even _nice_ -

Goddamnit. He was doing it again.

Being a Spider-Man fan- ahhh… follower? Wait, that still sounded creepy… ughh.

He probably shouldn’t have sounded so eager when he’d gone and asked M.J. if she needed any more help on her blog. Then he wouldn’t be in this mess…

“Little late to be out, isn’t it?”

Still fighting off sleep, Harry jumps violently at the sound of the voice, spilling his coffee over himself. Thankfully, it is only warm. He lets out a mournful cry nonetheless. Coffee was not cheap. Even for an Osborn.

_“Fuck!”_

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

It’s Spider-Man. _Again_.

Harry blinked, fighting the urge to pinch himself. What on earth was Spider-Man doing in the university library at this godforsaken hour? It made no sense! Maybe he was studying too… but in his superhero costume? Yikes. What was going on?

“Spider-Man? What the hell? Are you stalking me now?”

Spider-Man somehow looks affronted, “No! I also happen to enjoy perusing the library at god-awful hours of the morning, if you must know!”

“You owe me a new coffee-”

“That’s fair,”

“-and after that you leave me alone.” Harry finished, pulling off his ruined jumper. He could easily afford a new one, but it was the principle of it all. Having coffee thrown all over you was _not_ pleasant.

“Aw, c’mon! I consider us friends! Can’t I see my friend?”

“You don’t even know me!” Harry said incredulously, “And don’t say you’ve read about me in the magazines! I’ve heard that bullshit before, believe it or not!”

Spider-Man laughed, “I’m sure you have! Was it one of those Spanish models?”

“Leave Enrique out of – wait, have you been keeping _track_ of me?”

“Enrique doesn’t deserve your attention.” Spider-Man said loudly, hand placed over his heart dramatically; “José was just so much better, yanno?”

Harry’s face turned red. What the hell? Why did Spider-Man know about all that?

“Forget it. I haven’t talked to either of them in ages.”

Suddenly, Spider-Man sat up straighter in his seat. Harry couldn’t decipher his expressions with the mask on, so could only interpret such a reaction as alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, suddenly nervous. He’d read about Spider-Man’s ‘spider-sense’ in M.J.’s forums, a sort of sixth-sense that went off when danger was nearby. Had Spider-Man sensed something…?

“Oh, nothing.” Spider-Man said, voice sounding more cheerful than usual. If that was even possible. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to get some work done, and maybe help M.J. with her Spidey-tracking.” Harry explained, pulling out the hot-spot map, “You know, there’s an entire online community of people who love to take pictures of you and just report about your activities? Anyway, M.J. wants me to take pictures at some of these locations.”

Spider-Man stared at the map, seemingly thoughtful.

It must have been strange, Harry thought, to have all your movements so heavily monitored and reported about. Sort of like Harry’s own experience with the paparazzi. But then again, Spider-Man seemed the type to be very invested in keeping his identity a secret, so this sort of monitoring might seem more an annoyance than anything.

Harry couldn’t really blame the man.

“…wow, this is really…”

“Extensive?” Harry laughed, “You should see the actual forums. This is just the ‘tip of the iceberg’, as it were.”

Spider-Man hung his head in his hands, “Yikes, I think I need to be more careful…”

“…bit impossible in New York. Wherever you go, there’s going to be bystanders, or someone in the way. I’m just surprised collateral-damage has been so low for you. Not like those big-shot heroes like Cap. Collateral damage seems to dog his footsteps wherever he goes. I mean, you saw Sokovia, right? And D.C.?”

It was true. Harry had seen the statistics on the forums. Somehow, Spider-Man seemed extra careful. Of course, Spider-Man didn’t have the reach that Captain America or Iron-Man did, so he saw much less battle. Which made much more sense.

“Oh,” Spider-Man seemed surprised; “I thought it would be worse than that… well, I’m glad. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Harry smiled, “No problem.”

* * *

It’s nearly 1AM when Harry finally decides to head home. Surprisingly, Spider-Man had stuck around to help him find books for his essays, and use the web-search for online sources. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest just thinking about it. He knew he was being silly but it had been so long since anyone other than M.J. had payed such close attention to him. It was honestly flattering, and coming from Spider-Man, totally surreal.

Of course, just when Harry was going to pluck up the courage to invite Spider-Man to the twenty-four/seven pancake house just a block away, Norman had to go and ruin it all.

_“Harry, I demand you tell me where you are, right now!”_

Wincing, Harry pulled the phone away from his ear. He hadn’t heard Norman yell before, at least not in the guise of protectiveness, or whatever the hell this was. Possessiveness, maybe? Or worry about whether Harry was shaming the Osborn name, yet again?

“I’m at uni, Dad! What’s wrong?”

_“Come home this instance! I won’t have you wandering about - not at this time of night! It’s not safe.”_

“What?”

Normally, Harry would just obey, but this was just so abnormal, that he couldn’t quite believe it. Since when did Norman start caring where he went at night? Hell, Harry had been sneaking out since age ten, and Norman had barely raised an eyebrow. So why on earth would he start caring now, when Harry was on the cusp of adulthood and nearly ready to move out? He wouldn’t.

So, this was just straight up crazy. It was as if his father had been replaced by some doppelganger who hadn’t quite nailed the ‘emotionally distant father’ part of Norman’s _stellar_ personality. That made more sense than if Norman had just suddenly decided to start caring. Sudden moral realisations just weren’t something that happened to Norman.

_“You heard me. Now.”_

“Uhh, okay. Sure. On my way.” Harry said, before hanging up the phone. Weird.

“Is everything okay?”

Spider-Man sounds genuinely concerned for him. It’s just enough to leave Harry feeling breathless. Why was he being so silly ughh! Gosh, he needed to get out more…

“Uhh, yeah, everything’s fine. My dad just wants me home, that’s all.”

“Did you need a lift?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Harry said, waving him off. Going home with Spider-Man in tow was not a good idea. Norman might never let him leave the house again.

“I insist. Plus, it’ll be much quicker than walking.”

Harry blinked, suddenly curious, “Oh? What do you mean?”

* * *

As it turned out, ‘much quicker’ meant swinging precariously from tall buildings and praying that you didn’t hit anything. Of course, Harry probably should have keyed on when Spider-Man took him to the roof of the university building. Unfortunately, Harry only really got the memo when Spider-Man took him in his arms and launched off the building.

As the wind whistled past him, Harry screamed to high heaven.

Immediately, he clung to the masked hero like a nail to a wall, wrapping his arms around the hero’s neck, and his legs around his waist. His voice seemed to run hoarse after the first minute, so he settled for biting the inside of his cheek and refusing to open to his eyes.

No way. No way. He wouldn’t look. This had been a terrible, no good, very-bad idea. The absolute worst.

Fuck Spider-Man.

Distantly, he realised that Spider-Man was laughing. At him.

Yeah, _fuck_ Spider-Man.

“I’m going to kill you!” Harry yelled, words all but lost to the wind.

.

.

.

 


	5. V

With mousse, thick between his fingers, Harry musses up his thin hair. The club they are going to is not exactly fancy, so he has opted for a simple leather jacket – Prada, of course – paired with a sinfully low-cut shirt that shows off his collarbones. It’s for a _party_ – it’s fine for him to cut loose, at least a little bit (and the less Norman hears about it the better).

“Goddamn it, Harry. This is my party and you’re making me look like shit.” Mary-Jane said, shaking her head in exasperation.

She must be blind, in Harry’s opinion. Mary-Jane had great taste in clothing, never mind the brand or cost. She could make anything work. The red skater-dress and dark denim jacket she was currently sporting weren’t designer label, but they looked good all the same.

“Not even a _plastic bag_ could make _you_ look like shit, let’s be honest.” Harry laughed, giving her an exaggerated once-over.

Mary-Jane rolls her eyes, “Don’t get all soft. Not your style.”

“Fine. I’ll leave the compliments to Gwen. She’ll probably jump you when she sees you.”

Harry quickly dodges her arm when she goes to hit him with a scandalised scream, _“Harry!”_

“Look, I’m lucky to be going out tonight at all. Norman’s gone all militant on me – doesn’t want me staying out late, wants me to report in every hour, the works!” Harry complained, straightening his jacket for the umpteenth time; “I don’t get it!”

He wasn’t exaggerating. It was just strange behaviour! Of course, Norman had been staying late at work lately, and there was the upcoming gala in a few weeks, so might it just be stress? It was a possibility, right? Stress manifested in a weird over-protective mood that had lasted for nearly half a month now. Yeah. That made sense, right?

Mary-Jane raised an eyebrow, “Seriously? That’s unusual… maybe he’s going senile? Or he desperately wants to connect with you after all these years?”

Harry and Mary-Jane exchanged a pointed look before bursting out laughing.

_Ahhh, terrible fathers._

* * *

 

 _The Blue Grotto_ is only their first stop for the night, but it’s certainly one of the nicest. Not overtly fancy, but clean enough (which was probably more due to the fact that it had only opened a month ago). Still, the atmosphere was lively, and the music was consistently fantastic.

Glaring lights flash sporadically overhead, only in varying shades of blue, and illuminating each inch of the dance-floor like a deep-sea cavern. Even better, the lighting casts a great shadow over everything else, giving a sense of privacy to those in more interest of conversation in the booths.

The music pulses loudly around them and walls seem to vibrate in time with the beat, as well as the floors which thrum steadily beneath Harry’s boots. Paired with the roar of people bustling and dancing around them, Harry can hardly hear himself think. To his own credit, he does not stumble over his own feet. He’s been in plenty of clubs before, some of which had been far dingier and that he had thankfully mostly erased from his memory.

M.J. is a natural and leads him by the wrist through the throng, straight over to the booths. Lewis is trailing behind them, looking particularly out of place, with his back ramrod straight and the beginnings of a migraine twisting his features into a grimace. Harry slips him a twenty-note and a pack of analgesics, with an apologetic grin.

Normally, he would have just had Lewis drop him off and cut him loose for a few hours, but with Norman’s new rules, that just wasn’t possible. So poor Lewis had to tag along.

Most of their friends are already sitting down, laughing tipsily and sharing drinks, alcoholic and otherwise. There’s Gwen of course, looking pretty-as-a-picture in a soft-blue jumpsuit, and then there’s Ned and Miles sitting in the corner hunched over their Nintendo Switches, no doubt replaying _Breath of the Wild_ for the third time in a row. Not surprisingly, Flash is already dancing on the table, thoroughly ignoring the annoyed glances of the bartenders. There’s plenty of others there too: most of them people that Harry doesn’t recognise, perhaps more of M.J.’s uni friends?

Oh, and there’s Liz, wearing a flattering purple top, and already deep in conversation with-

Oh. Oh no.

Goddamnit.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Harry yelled, straining to make himself heard over the noise.

Cupping her mouth, Mary-Jane gasped, “Oh my god. I’m sorry, Harry! I told Gwen she should bring along some friends, ‘cus more the merrier and all that…”

Harry shakes his head, mouth set firmly in a line, “I guess I’ll just have to put up with it.”

He was not going to leave just because of _Peter Parker_. He had just as much right as Peter to hang out with his friends.

“Uggh… _stupid_. I can’t believe I forgot that they’re in the same course!” she turned to Harry, waving her hands as if to calm him down, “But don’t worry! I’m going to be right there; I’ll pick him off you if I have to! Plus, Flash and the others are here too. Plenty of other people to talk to!”

“M.J.! _It’s fine._ Don’t worry about me, OK?”

“We can leave right now, if you want! I’ll just let Gwen know, okay?”

“No, it’s fine! This is your party. I’m here to celebrate you and your blog success – just like everyone else, okay? This is _your_ night.”

And he meant it too. M.J. had worked her ass off to make her blog as successful and as interesting as it was. It was pretty much because of M.J. that the Spider-Man fan community in New York was so prominent nowadays. She deserved to party with all of her friends, even if Harry didn't like some of them, because that's the sort of things that friends were meant to do for each other. Give and take.

With a deep breath, Harry heads towards the booth with M.J. in tow. Almost instantly, M.J. is pulled into a tight hug by Gwen, the two of them swaying slightly on the spot. It was almost nauseatingly cute, Harry thought as he quickly looked away.

Too late, he realises his mistake.

“It’s my boy! HARRY O! HARRY O!”

Suddenly, Flash is there pulling him into a headlock, which turns into an affectionate hug somewhere in the process, but Harry just feels like he’s being squeezed to death. He pats the bulky man on the shoulder awkwardly, enjoying the attention anyway.

The hug is short-lived when Ned and Miles practically jump him and they all collapse in a filthy dogpile on the floor, laughing their heads off. Through the soreness, the rampant giggling, and Ned’s elbow rammed into his nose, he manages to wail helplessly.

Luckily, Gwen has stopped hugging M.J. long enough to notice his distress, and she promptly pulls him out.

God, he hadn’t even had a drink yet.

Time to correct that.

* * *

 

With a drink finally in hand, Harry returns promptly to the table.

Not surprisingly, Ned and Miles have stopped hugging everyone and are now back to focusing all their attention on their Switches. Gwen and M.J. are curled up in the corner of the booth, smiling at each other with soft touches and lingering looks. It’s ridiculous and Harry wants to yell at them to hook-up already. Gosh.

Meanwhile, Flash has somehow managed to drag Liz out onto the dancefloor with a bunch of the others, where they seem to be desperately battling the sluggish effects of the alcohol with their own desires to look good dancing. It’s hilarious.

But then where was…

Feeling a prickling at his neck, Harry turns only to see Peter obnoxiously gawking at him.

_Fuck._

Harry’s fists curl at his sides. Did Peter _really_ expect him to stay away? This was for M.J., after all, and Harry had just as much right to celebrate with her as Peter.

“Hey, Harry!”

As usual, Peter sounds upbeat and just a bit more awkward than usual. Strangely, enough he’s very red in the face. Maybe it was the drinks? Pfft, of course it was the drinks.

Perhaps they could be civil today. Peter didn’t _sound_ like he was trying to start anything.

Voice deceptively level, Harry merely nods, “Peter.”

“Nice party, right?”

“Yeah, M.J. and Gwen always throw the best get-togethers.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that.” Peter said, his eyes brimming with mischief; “I think you and I threw some pretty good slumber parties back in the day.”

Oh, why did he have to go and say that? He was right of course. Their sleepovers had been the _best_ – video-games, junk food, prank calls, wacky science-experiments that would have made anyone’s hair stand on end, and relentless bad-mouthing of Norman.

Harry missed all that, he really did.

Which only made it all the more difficult to snub Peter.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, finding himself unable to look the other boy in the eye.

“You know, I still can’t believe how well M.J.’s blog is doing!” Peter gushed, changing the subject when Harry didn’t budge.

Despite his fingers tightening around his frosty glass, Harry manages to feign a smile.

“Hmmm,” He murmured agreeably, looking everywhere but at Peter. Trying to be sociable towards Peter was utterly exhausting when every cell in Harry’s body wanted to punch him in the face instead.

“She sure is lucky to have gotten an interview with that anon dude, and the _pictures_ too! All of those Spidey fans are just lapping it up!”

Harry nodded tightly, “She definitely deserves the attention anyway – she puts in a lot of hard work.”

“I can’t imagine where she finds the time though… say, do you ever help her out?” Peter mused.

Worriedly, Harry glances at him quickly before letting his features settle. Did Peter suspect? Would he expose him? Surely not… only they weren’t exactly friendly nowadays. Harry knew Peter wasn’t the vengeful sort, but people changed, right?

The media would have a field-day with Harry Osborn the Spider-Man Fanatic.

“Oh, yeah, every now and again. I’ll pick up some odd-jobs for her, follow-up on anonymous tips for Spider-Man sightings, that sort of thing. Nothing too big though.” Harry said quickly, fingers fumbling around his glass.

Peter looked thoughtful, seeming to accept Harry’s rambling explanation. A sick feeling gnaws its way through Harry’s gut, however, as he can practically see the gears turning in Peter’s head. They were childhood friends – Harry knew every micro-expression or otherwise in detecting Peter’s moods and thoughts. Right now, Peter looked like he was trying to figure something particularly puzzling out in his head.

Knowing how smart he was, Harry was sure that Peter would.

It’s too much.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, Harry turns to leave, “E-excuse me…”

“Harry, wait!” Peter said, grabbing Harry’s wrist and stopping him in his tracks; “I’m sorry! I don’t know what I said, but we can change the subject or whatever you want,”

Harry froze, looking firstly at Peter’s hand on his wrist, and then at the man himself. He looks _concerned_.

A familiar feeling shoots through Harry’s chest, almost like deja vu, which he instantly chalks down to the fact that he’s known Peter all his life, and this isn’t the first time they’ve fought, or been upset in each other’s presence. But it’s the first time that look has _hurt_. Harry wants so much to throw aside his grievances and for things to go back to the way they were. He knows there isn’t a malicious bone in Peter’s body – and he loves that about him. He loves that so much, he wishes he could be more like that – more forgiving, more loving. Only, he knows that even if he did, Peter wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – change.

In that instant, all the anger in Harry’s head is gone.

In its place, an emptiness settles in, and all the energy in his body drains away.

When the group eventually tires of _The Blue Grotto_ , and moves onward through the bustling streets to the next bar, Harry makes a point to keep Peter at arm’s length.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else enjoying the new Spider-Man cartoon? All the Parksborn moments are A++  
> (USM was pretty good for Parksborn moments too, initially)


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman forces Harry to learn the ropes at Oscorp and effectively ruins his day off.  
> Luckily, Peter Parker is here to save the day (sort of)!

Harry checks his wristwatch for the umpteenth time, his teeth grating ever so slowly together with each additional look at the ticking contraption strapped to his arm. He wants out. Now.

Going to Oscorp for the day to ‘learn the ropes’ was the opposite of interesting. In fact, it wasn’t engaging on any level - at least, not under Norman’s guidance. Maybe if Norman had let him talk with Dr. Connors for a while, or watch Dr. Smythe working away at his latest experiment, then maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Hell, Oscorp was the birthing place of all the most influential discoveries in genetics and scientific advancement! By all rights it should be the most interesting place in Manhattan!

But no, instead, Norman was making him sit in on _board-meetings_.

Excruciatingly long board-meetings.

Really, the last thing he wanted to do on his Monday off was to follow Norman and his lackeys around. He could think of one hundred other things that he could be doing – all of them a much better use of his time. It didn’t help that Smythe’s son, Alistair, also 'learning the ropes', kept giving him creepy looks – and didn’t seem to want to back down from said creepy staring even when Harry caught him at it.

Harry shuddered. Gross.

When the current board meeting (finally) finishes, Harry practically leaps out of his seat and out the door, successfully dodging all the senile men and women in suits shaking hands, as well as Alistair’s creeping fingers.

* * *

 

The official Oscorp canteen is on the fifth floor, housing quite a few independent businesses and a sizable dining area. Oscorp had plenty of employees to cater for, even better if they took their lunch in the building and kept on working (or at least, that’s what it seemed like to Harry).

Despite being stuck in this desert of a building, Harry does have some friends here. That was how he survived the board meetings – he’d been happily texting them all throughout (with Alistair trying to read over his shoulder all the while). Which is why he’s somehow managed to coordinate well-enough to catch Felicia Hardy, his father’s PA, on her lunchbreak.

Waiting patiently near the vegan delicatessen is Felicia, sitting at a table in the corner with a tall lemonade, idly tapping her long nails against the dark wood of the table. As usual, she looks astoundingly bored. Then again, being around Norman Osborn for more than five minutes a day, much less eight hours, does that to a person. Harry does not envy her job at all, despite the attractive pay check.

She nods at him.

“Thank you, Felicia.”

“No problem. I didn’t want to fill out anymore paperwork anyway, to be honest. You owe me a drink later though,” Felicia drawled, still tapping out a solid beat on the table, before turning to look at him; “So, what’s up?”

Harry sinks further into his seat, flicking the straw of his drink.

“That good?”

Harry nodded dismally.

Felicia stops tapping her nails against the table and gives him a scrutinising look.

“…what happened?”

“I’ve been stuck in meetings all day, and Dr Smythe’s kid gives me the creeps.”

Felicia wrinkled her nose, “Oh, yep, I know of him, and I’m not surprised, to be honest,”

Suddenly Felicia looks out into the crowded cafeteria, eyes narrowing in concentration, “…is that the guy at the table over there who hasn’t stopped staring over here for the past five minutes?”

Harry looks up, slightly alarmed, “Wait, what?”

Felicia snorts with laughter, “Oh, look! He’s turning away now! He’s knows we’ve caught him! Ha, his face is so red!”

Harry turns around only to see the one and only _Peter Parker_ sitting at a table in the Oscorp cafeteria. But what the hell was Peter doing at Oscorp? Had he gotten an internship or something?

He realises he is staring when he notices that Peter has indeed turned a very vibrant shade of red and is staring very pointedly into his drink.

Confused, Harry furrowed his brow, “…what the hell is _Peter_ doing here?”

Felicia looks wry, “I think he’s very concerned with what you are doing and who you are meeting. Like a mother hen, maybe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry grumbled. _Really_. Peter might be curious, but definitely _not_ worried.

“I want to know what his intentions are.”

_“What?”_

“I’m kidding, oh, wait a minute… I recognise him! You guys used to be like, super close!” Felicia said, crossing her fingers for emphasis; “Best Friends ‘Til Death. Norman used to _hate_ it when you two would tear up the tower!”

“That’s it.” Harry said, standing up; “I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. I’ll be back,”

Felicia had no chance to stop him before Harry began making his way over to Peter’s table. As if sensing him, Peter looked up in horror and immediately dove under his table.

Harry stopped at the table, tapping his foot impatiently. Still, Peter did not re-emerge.

_Seriously?_

“What are you doing, Peter?” Harry finally said, sighing loudly.

Peter slowly peeked up at him, body still under the table, having the sense to at least look sheepish.

“Oh, uhhh, hey, Harry. Fancy seeing you here!”

“…at my dad’s work?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What are you doing under the table?”

“I just dropped… my cutlery,” Peter finished lamely, blatantly knocking his fork off the table as he spoke, only to pick it up again with a flourish of triumph; “Ha, got it!”

“Right,” Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What are you _really_ doing here?”

Peter finally got up from under the table and sat down in his chair, motioning Harry to sit down as well. Keenly aware of his own lingering apathy towards Peter, and the fact that Felicia was watching them, Harry hesitated for a moment, before finally giving in.

“I, uhhh, came here to do some research for uni,” Peter said, busying himself with a napkin; “For one of my classes, you know?”

Harry nodded. That made sense.

“But, uhhh, I saw you sitting in here, and I wanted to talk to you,” Peter continued, still looking intently at the table; “I miss you.”

There was a beat of silence, as his words seemed to run like a loop through Harry’s head. Suddenly, everything, all the petty comments, the silence, and the fighting seemed so ridiculous. What had they been doing all this time? 

“I miss you, too.” Harry whispered, surprising himself.

Peter finally looked up, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and a grin so wide it looked painful. Harry could only bare to look for so long, before he forced himself to look away. It hurt too much.

“Aunt May is always asking about you. She keeps making extra meat-loaf all the time,” Peter said, still smiling away like the past year had never happened.

“Norman asked about you the other week.” Harry croaked, “I think he misses you, in his own weird way. I can’t really tell…”

“Huh, seriously? Yikes, that’s an indicator if any that I’ve been neglecting you…”

Harry stiffened, fingers curling tightly into fists. Hearing it said aloud made it all that much more real. At least Peter wasn’t denying that he’d been a jerk but it certainly wasn’t difficult to accept either. Why was being a grown-up so complicated?

“Yeah, you have,” Harry said quietly, “I haven’t been too friendly either, mind you,”

“No!” Peter said, grabbing Harry’s hand from across the table and clasping it tightly. As if to stop Harry from getting away, as if he _wanted_ Harry to be there. “No, that’s not fair.”

“Pete, c’mon, I’m just being truthful. I haven’t been easy to be around or talk to lately, and I have noticed you _trying._ I’ve just been so… angry? I guess?”

“Okay, stop right there!” Peter said, clasping their hands together more tightly; “I guess we’ve both done things we regret, but that doesn’t mean we’re not best friends, okay? We’ve been together since childhood, Har, and I’m not gonna let some silly fight dictate otherwise!”

There was a beat of silence, and Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest.

In all this time, he’d quite forgotten what it felt like to have Peter by his side, fighting for him, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. Only now, with his heart stuck in his throat, could he recall.

_“Hey! Hey, you!”_

Both Harry and Peter were thrown from their reverie and turned, only to see the Oscorp security detail marching over to the tables, with one guard wielding a mean-looking taser.

What in the fresh hell?

Peter’s eyes widened comically, “Oh, _shit.”_

Harry raised an eyebrow, and pushed himself away from the table, “Pete? What’s going on?”

 _“Shit, fuck_ – I gotta go, Harry,” Peter said hurriedly, grabbing his satchel.

“Peter!”

“Let’s talk properly, okay? 10AM this Friday at that coffee-house – y’know, the one near our old school? I’ll see you there, Har!” Peter called over his shoulder, knocking over tables and chairs as he sprinted for the doors, with the guards hot on his trail.

Harry looked on, somewhat bemused, but still concerned about whatever Peter had done to piss off Norman’s security team. What on earth was going on?

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PETER SCORED A DATE  
> (in his head)
> 
> and Alistair Smythe's flirting skills need serious work


	7. VII

It’s Friday.

Usually, Harry would be relieved. He’s been at university all week, trying to catch up on his lectures and work on all his impending assignments which are weighing all too presently on his mind. Not to mention that he’s still overwhelmed from his stint at Oscorp on Monday. That had been… interesting, to say the very least. Not from any effort on Norman’s behalf however (hell, those _board-meetings_ …), but rather from Peter’s strange appearance, and then the fact that Norman’s behaviour had seemed all the more erratic in forcing him there in the first place.

Then there was the matter of Spider-Man.

He’d been… quiet recently. Well, not on the streets - in fact, he’d been more involved than ever with reports streaming in from every dark corner of the internet dedicated to Spider-Man Spotting. No, what worried at Harry was that Spider-Man hadn’t talked to _him_.

And he knew he was being silly, because _really?_ How many people were there in Manhattan alone? And how many of those people were getting into trouble – fistfights, gas leaks, car accidents, the like! It was mayhem and no wonder there were so many wanna-be vigilantes running about the place! So why on earth would someone like Spider-Man, who had all that to worry about, make time for Harry?

Answer – _he wouldn’t_. It only made sense. There was no reason, absolutely _no reason_ , for Harry to feel so dejected. It was childish and stupid and just - ughhh.

God, he should know better.

So, all in all, he’s pretty damn exhausted. Nevertheless, here he is, in some quaint coffee shop in Midtown not far from his and Peter’s old high school. He isn’t sure if it’s sentiment or just convenience on Peter’s end.

It’s been so long, that Harry can’t quite help feeling nervous. The café is a familiar place, but even that isn’t enough to stave off the empty feeling deep in his gut. He isn’t sure if he wants to run right back out through the door or just continue waiting for Peter to show up. Hmmm… maybe he should just order a peppermint tea and leave it at that. With the way his stomach was acting, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep anything else down.

Why the hell did he order this whipped-cream monstrosity of a coffee? What the hell had he been thinking? If there was ever a time to build a time machine and slap Past-Harry in the face for wasting six bucks then this was it.

“Har!”

Harry looked up, only to see Peter jogging towards the table, very nearly bowling over one of the waitresses in the process. Not surprisingly.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit late –” Peter said, breathing noticeably ragged as collapsed in the seat opposite Harry. “I forgot I had to deliver some letters for Aunt May, and then I went down the wrong street, so I had to go back and actually go down the right one with the post-box, _and then_ I was late for my train, so I just ran here-”

“You ran here? Seriously?”

“Never said I was smart, Har.” Peter said, shooting finger guns at him with a wry grin on his face.

“Uh, huh. Yep. Just send me a text next time, you dolt.”

“No problem, Har, now tell me, have you ordered already?”

“I waited, like a decent human being,” Harry said, chin in the air.

“You ordered a coffee already didn’t you.”

“Absolutely.” Harry said, taking a sip from the creamy abomination and instantly regretting it.

“I’ve missed you,” Peter said, still smiling, and now making Harry’s gut feel worse than ever.

“Me too,” Harry said, very nearly choking on the words. God, being emotional was freaking awful.

“So, how’s life in general?” Peter asked, breaking into a topic more comfortable for the both of them.

“Not that different,” Harry said, “Though, I think Dad is going senile-”

It was then that Peter’s phone buzzed loudly, shaking the table and spilling drops of the iced-drink-from-hell over the tabletop. Not that Harry was sad about that – getting interrupted though, that was just a little bit annoying. Peter grinned apologetically before tapping away the notifications on his phone.

“Sorry – so, what’s Norman up to now?”

“He’s gotten so paranoid. It’s unbelievable.” Harry said, laughing now; “You know how I was at Oscorp on Monday? Well, Dad approached me the other day and started interrogating me. Asking me if I’d seen anything _funny_ going on.”

“And what did you tell him?” Peter asked, face oddly blank.

“Well, I said _no_ – ‘cus I hadn’t seen anything weird, except for that creepazoid Alistair.” Harry shuddered, brushing away invisible hands from his shoulders. “But, yeah, anyway, Dad keeps acting like everyone is out to get him, and he keeps moping around the apartments and muttering-”

Peter’s phone buzzed again, once more spilling Harry’s abandoned coffee over the table and making the both of them jump. Even growing up alongside the invention and mainstream distribution of smartphones did nothing to prepare one for an oncoming message on said phones.

Peter looked at his notifications this time, frowning, before once again switching off the screen.

“- so yeah,” Harry finished, still looking at the phone as he laid napkins out over the coffee spills; “So, what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, how is Aunt May? What have you both been up to?”

“Well-”

For the third time, the phone buzzed, only this time, it kept on ringing, making the table shake and drawing both of their attention to it. Peter immediately picked it up, and unlocked the phone, only to stare at the screen. Harry bit his lip, trying to not let it annoy him, and failing.

For a good moment, Peter’s eyes flicker uncertainly between his phone and Harry. As if he were choosing between the two.

“Umm, is it alright if-”

“Just answer it.”

Harry doesn’t bother to keep the venom from his voice. It was happening again. Peter Parker still didn’t have time for him – not even a half-hour coffee date. No, as usual, Peter had more important matters and clearly more important friends to see. Yes, Peter hadn’t changed at all, and like a goddamn fool, Harry had fallen for it again.

“O-okay.” Peter stuttered, hands fumbling. He holds the phone up to his ear, cringing. “Yes?”

Muffled yelling sounds through the phone, and his brow seems to grow heavier with each passing second. After several minutes of hushed whispering, he finally turns back to Harry, with one hand over the receiver.

“Look, Har, I’m _really_ sorry but I need to take this. I’ll be like five minutes, okay?”

“Fine.” Harry said simply, watching as Peter bolted out of the café, phone still pressed to tightly to his ear.

So, Harry waited.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, with no hide nor hair to be seen of Peter, Harry abruptly stands up from the booth. He presses a fifty-note into the hand of the surprised waitress with a mumbled apology before promptly exiting the café and heading home.

At this point, he was too tired to be disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PETER. WHAT YOU DOING BOY.  
> if you keep this up Harry will be forced to date Alistair.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or left kudos!

It was late at night, and yet the troubling events of the day would not leave Harry’s mind and let him sleep. No, all he could do was replay all the way Peter had ignored him, repeatedly in his mind. Maybe he’d been too harsh? But Peter had run out on him! Peter had chosen his freaking smartphone over him! Hell, was it too much to ask for someone’s undivided attention for thirty minutes?

But… maybe he’d been too harsh. Maybe he’d said something that had made Peter want to leave. Only, he can’t really figure out what. He _had_ been talking about himself, so maybe he should have asked about Peter’s life more? Hell, maybe Peter had never wanted to meet up with him anyway and had just asked to avoid an awkward situation at Oscorp. That made sense.

His fingers twitch idly for his phone, but Harry resists the urge. He couldn’t disturb M.J. She and Gwen were finally going out for a date – an _official_ date – and he couldn’t interrupt that. It wouldn’t be fair. He wants to talk to her so badly, but he knows he must be patient. M.J. deserves to have a nice date with Gwen – and Harry knows she would throw her plans aside in a heartbeat to help a friend, but he won’t let her do that. She was too kind, too selfless.

So, when he opens up his phone, he checks the time as if he weren’t already aware of the late hour and puts it back on the bedside table with a huff. He tries to slow down his breathing and counts sheep instead. Why couldn’t he just go to sleep and forget it all?

_Rap rap rap._

Harry shot up from the bed, alarmed. It sounded as if someone was rapping on the glass doors of his balcony. What in the fresh hell? Was he being robbed – wait, what kind of robber _knocks?_

With a cautious sway to his step, Harry approaches the balcony and throws open the doors, hoping to alarm his intruder. Instead, he very nearly stumbles backwards as none other than _Spider-Man_ collapses against him. Something is wrong.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Harry asked, struggling to haul the vigilante away from the balcony. With his spindly limbs and limber body, Spider-Man is much heavier than Harry had imagined. Somehow, they make it to Harry’s bed, where Harry props him up against some cushions.

“Bunch of assholes got the jump on me.” Spider-Man groaned, clutching his side.

“Okay, just sit tight, all right?” Harry said, “I’m gonna go get a med-kit, okay?”

Spider-Man nods wearily.

Harry rushes into the kitchen and throws open the cabinet as he rummages about for the medical kit. With the kit in hand, he runs back into the room, only to see Spider-Man still sprawled out on his bed. Harry has the thought to pick up the pillow he had thrown earlier, and props it under Spider-Man’s head, before busying himself with the med-kit.

“You kept the bobblehead?” Spider-Man’s voice sounds surprisingly soft.

“Oh, uhhh, yeah,” Harry said, hoping that Spider-Man wouldn’t mention that the bobblehead was currently on Harry’s _bedside table_. That would just be embarrassing.

Instead, they fall into a comfortable silence, as Harry sorts through the med-kit and grabs all the essentials. In the meantime, he passes Spider-Man some painkillers and a glass of water, who accepts them gratefully. When he lifts his mask up to drink, Harry can’t resist taking a peak, noting the fullness of Spider-Man’s mouth and the nice cut of his jaw. When he realises he’s staring, he forces himself to look away.

Instead, he starts bathing Spider-Man wounds, who gives out a hiss whenever the cloth rubs over the cuts and bruises littering his torso.

“So, you know my day hasn’t gone that well, but how about you?” Spider-Man asked, voice strained as the painkillers took their sweet-time working.

Harry laughed. His worries seemed almost insignificant compared to Spider-Man’s crimefighting and really, why on earth would he want to listen to all that? Still, he supposes Spider-Man is in sore need of a distraction right now. Anything to mask the pain.

“Oh, uhhh… my day wasn’t too great either.” Harry said, moving on to a particularly nasty gash on Spider-Man’s shoulder; “I tried to catch up with a friend – only stuff keeps getting in the way. Maybe it’s a big old message from the universe that we just aren’t meant to be together, you know?”

Spider-Man bit back a yelp as Harry pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth to his shoulder.

“ _Shit_ – ahh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Harry shrugged, “I’m not surprised, just… disappointed. It’s been like this for a while now, so, no harm done.”

“No, that straight up sucks.” Spider-Man insisted, “Your friends sounds pretty lousy.”

Hearing it aloud made it worse. Harry wanted so badly for Peter to be invested in their friendship, but it didn’t seem that way anymore. And he would never have called Peter lousy, and he frowned at the very mention of it, but his cheeks burned at the thought that Spider-Man was being protective.

Harry laughed, “I don’t know, your friends like to beat you up and leave you in the street, so I think I’ve got the sweeter deal to be honest.”

“No, no, we’re talking about you, remember?” Spider-Man said, jumping a little as Harry pressed the cloth to a nasty cut on his arm. “We both know my day straight up sucked, so you’re meant to be distracting me.”

“Fine. Ask me another question then.” Harry said, trying his best not to smile.

Spider-Man tilted his head in thought as he decided on what question to ask. Finally, he said: “So, your dad is Norman Osborn? That’s crazy right?”

“Mmhmmm, if there’s a textbook entry for daddy issues, I’m it.” Harry said, half-joking as he rooted about in the med-kit for the bandages.

Suddenly, Spider-Man let out a peal of laughter, which quickly devolved into groans of pain. Harry’s heart quickened in his chest, as he fussed about trying to calm him down.

“Hey! Stop that!” Harry scolded him, trying to wrap the bandages around his wounds.

“ _Shit_ , ouch.”

“Yeah, that’s what you get for laughing at my lame jokes.”

“But seriously, Norman Osborn. Yeesh. That’s one hell of a shadow to be growing up in.”

“I don’t care about that stuff. I just wish he had more time for me.” Harry said, not even believing himself. It wasn’t that he actually wanted to be like his father, it was that Norman wanted him to be like him and would treat him with apathy otherwise. And yes, he would have liked it if Norman had been more of the throw-the-ball-in-the-park type of dad, but that wasn’t how things had worked out.

“Yeah, I miss my dad too.”

Harry blinked. Had Spider-Man just revealed something personal? Holy shit.

“Really? Daddy issues?”

“A different brand of daddy issues. He died when I was a kid.”

Harry bit his lip, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nah, the rest of my family has been great to me. It’s just sad sometimes, that’s all. How about you? How’s family life?”

“Yeah, my dad’s going a bit loopy, I think.” Harry laughed, “He keeps getting more and more paranoid.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“Oh, let me see… oh yeah, he thinks an outsider might have hacked into some files at Oscorp – I had to work there on Monday, and he interrogated me a few days later - asked me if I’d seen anything _funny._ ”

“And did you?” Spider-Man asked, clutching at his side.

“No. And how would I know if I did? There’s always something weird going on there. The company makes bank from creepy science experiments!”

“Maybe he’s getting protective of you.” Spider-Man said.

Harry shook his head, “Hah. I wish.”

Finally, Harry wraps up the last of the wounds. He sits back to rub cream on the bruises, trying not to concentrate on how well-muscled Spider-Man’s torso is, nor how his soft his skin feels beneath his fingertips, and the way his muscles ripple under his touch. More importantly, he refuses to stare at the coarse trail of hairs winding from his bellybutton and down under his waistband.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no. _Fuck_.

“Shall I turn on the T.V.? Harry asked, sitting up far too quickly.

After Spider-Man gave a weak nod, Harry turns on the T.V. He flicks aimlessly through the channels and stops on a 24-hour news station. Normally, he would have stopped on a music or otherwise benign channel, but the picture on the screen has caught his attention. It’s from Manhattan, at one of the docks. It’s worrying – there’s plenty of property damage and evidence of what could only be a serious fight. Already, there’s a lot of police cars on the scenes.

“Is this you?”

Spider-Man nodded weakly, “I was trying to hunt down those Raft escapees – it got messy.”

_“Alone?”_

“No, I had back-up… but like I said, it got messy.” Spider-Man said, clawing at his side.

“Don’t mess with your injuries!” Harry said, slapping his hand away quickly. With the grace to look sheepish, Spider-Man obeyed. “And seriously, did you guys even have a plan?”

“Hey!” Spider-Man said, clearly affronted, “I mean, sure it was a little spur of the moment, but that’s what I do!”

When Harry gave him a look, Spider-Man trailed off.

“I know this hero thing must be important to you, but please, be careful.” Harry said quietly, looking down at his hands; “I’m happy to patch you up whenever you need to, but please, look out for yourself.”

“Thank you, Har.”

Cheeks burning, Harry looked up in surprise. Only Peter ever called him that. But coming from Spider-Man, the stupid nickname felt miles more intimate than it ever had before. Fighting down the beating of his heart, Harry stands up quickly and put some much-needed distance between himself and Spider-Man. He knew he was being silly. But gosh, did it make him feel good.

“You can rest up in here – don’t worry, my dad never comes in here so there shouldn’t be any awkward questions or anything like that.” Harry said, smiling, “Did you want me to blind-fold myself?”

Harry knows that Spider-Man’s anonymity is important. He had never taken his mask off in front of him, and this situation was not desperate enough to warrant him doing so. Talking with a stranger was getting wearisome, you could only get so close to someone who never showed their face to you, but Harry did not think about that in this moment. Surely, Spider-Man would tell him in time, but for now Harry would just have to adapt. Protecting Spider-Man’s identity was important to the hero, so it would have to be important to Harry too.

“A-are you sure?” Spider-Man’s body language is all stiff-limbed surprise, “I can’t ask you to do that in your own house. I can just leave, yanno?”

Harry shakes his head, “You need rest, and to sort out any injuries on your face. I’ll go find a blindfold or something.”

It doesn’t take Harry long to find a suitable blindfold in the form of one of his silk scarves (wrapped twice so that he can’t be tempted to take a peak). He sits on the bed, hugging one of the posts and listening to the hum of the T.V. and Spider-Man washing up in his bathroom.

“You’ve been so quiet recently,” Harry said, regretting the words even as they spilled out; “I missed you.”

There was a beat of silence, and all Harry could hear was Spider-Man’s laboured breathing bouncing off the tiled-walls of the bathroom. It was painful to wait.

“I wanted to see you. I got caught up in chasing those guys and tracking them down, but I really wanted to see you.” Spider-Man said after a moment, his voice achingly soft.

“Oh,” Harry said, too surprised to say anything else. Distantly, his heart gives a feeble sort of leap in his chest, a feeling which he tries, and fails to push back down.

Slowly, they drift into a comfortable silence as Spider-Man splashes about in the bathroom, no doubt washing a great deal of grime and blood off his face. Despite the mask, Harry suspects that the hero was not well protected for the fight at all.

When Harry hears the tell-tale sign of footsteps exiting the bathroom and back towards him, he can’t help but tense. Suddenly, he’s infuriatingly shy in front of Spider-Man and he hates himself for it. Hell, why couldn’t he be suave and cool? Why did he have to be a blushing mess?

The bed dips next to him as Spider-Man sits back down, no doubt propping the cushions behind his sore body.

“Do you need more painkillers? Water? An ice pack?” Harry asked, fumbling over his words and hoping that Spider-Man couldn’t see the colour in his face.

Suddenly, calloused fingers trace the curves of his face, coming to a slow stop as two clever hands cradle his jaw. Harry’s breath quickens, suddenly feeling utterly vulnerable beneath Spider-Man’s gaze. They are sitting too close together and he can hear and feel Spider-Man’s own steady breathing. With their faces close together, Harry suddenly fears that Spider-Man is going to kiss him.

“Thank you.” Spider-Man said instead, voice strangely quiet and without the obviously put-upon gruffness. It is a deep, yet gentle voice that washes over him. There is something familiar to it, that Harry can’t quite place. His brow furrows in thought, and almost instantly the hands draw away.

Harry sits quietly for a moment, stunned.

Then he stands up, using the bed-post as a guide; “I’ll go get you an ice-pack.” He said, more to himself than Spider-Man.

“I’m covering my face, so feel free to take that blindfold off.”

Harry is grateful to exit the room with his vision intact, cheeks still on fire. His attention is drawn yet again, however, as Spider-Man speaks:

“You should, uhhh, you shouldn’t give up yet. Go talk to that asshole friend of yours,” Spider-Man said groggily, from behind one of the cushions he was using to shield his face; “I bet they miss you just as much as you miss them.”

Harry ducked his head and smiled, before heading out to find an ice-pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PETER MADE HIS MOVEEEEEE (sort of)
> 
> also how about those new eps of marvel's spider-man like ouch amirite


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hi, mark.  
> new chapter.

In the morning, Spider-Man is gone. Having spent the night on the couch, Harry all but rushes into his bedroom the next morning with a pair of painkillers and a glass of water in hand, only to see the bed woefully empty. A quick survey of the room reveals no evidence that Spider-Man had ever been there, with even his trash emptied of any bloody rags.

A shot of disappointment hits Harry right in the gut and he forced himself to sit down, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t be feeling _empty_. What had he expected, really? For Spider-Man to stay, to join him for breakfast, to go with him to meet M.J. later? Really?

It was just ridiculous.

But the loneliness creeping at the back of his mind won’t be ignored.

He can’t believe it. Of all the people to fawn over, why did it have to be _Spider-Man?_ He was perhaps the most inappropriate person to start a relationship with in the entirety of Manhattan. For starters, Spider-Man was always wearing a mask and had a terrible (amazing) habit masquerading as a vigilante. Hell, what would Norman say if he found Harry was dating a wannabe hero in latex? Oh, and what if Spider-Man’s luck ran out one day and he never returned? Where would that leave Harry? Waiting aimlessly for some dead boy rotting in some back alley? Hell no.

Then there was the fact that he has no idea who Spider-Man is, or what he looks like. A growing sense of maturity meant that he no longer felt so shallow about appearances, so Spider-Man’s actual appearance didn’t bother him, so much as the anonymity and mystery did. He did not like liars. He had run into too many of them. Such was the fate of the famous.

Not to mention that the entire situation was just bizarre. It was like he was in a sickening Hallmark movie, not even given the dignity of a cinematic release, forever stuck on a streaming service, or worse, straight to DVD.

He must be lightheaded from sleeping on the couch. That must be it. Because it didn’t make any damned sense for him to be… _familiar_ with Spider-Man. None at all.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of white under the bobble-head, which is standing slightly askew. He lifts up the toy, only to see a note written in very messy handwriting.

_Harry,_

_~~Words can’t express~~ Thank you. ~~I can’t tell you~~ There’s no way to tell you how grateful I am to have you by my side._

_Yours,_

_Spidey_

Heat flooded his cheeks and Harry forced himself to look away from the note. _Oh no_.

It was official. He was screwed.

* * *

With a disgusted frown, Harry threw aside the violent pink dress-shirt that M.J. had saw fit to add to his ‘try’ pile. As if. He was brave and willing to wear such a colour, but the shirt itself was so sinfully disgusting, (it wasn’t even ironically ugly, it was just straight up hideous) that he could never do it to himself.

“What happened to your sense of fashion?” Harry called through the stall door as he tried a mustard dress-shirt on instead.

M.J. sounded affronted, “What do you mean?”

With not even a second glance at the price tag, Harry threw the pink shirt over the door. There was no way that he would ever wear something so horrendous, much less to his father’s gala that he hadn’t stopped nagging him about for the last two months. No, Harry was quite determined to look _presentable_ , thank you very much.

“…it’s kind of cute!” M.J. said after a beat of silence.

“No, that – that’s a crime against fashion.”

The mustard shirt looked fine, but Harry didn’t _love_ it. That was usually a good indicator as any that he would probably wear it once, and then never see it again (likely stuffed at the back of his closet to live out the rest of its sorry days).

He takes it off, slightly disappointed, before picking up the next shirt off the hangar. He pulls it on over his head and buttons it up, a slow smile spreading across his face as he takes in the way it drapes off his frame. _Oh._ This might be the one.

“Okay, how about this one?”

Harry stepped out from the stall, waiting for M.J.’s opinion. It was a midnight blue shirt, made from a material that wasn’t too thin, or too thick, and perfectly soft against his skin. It was comfortable, but Harry needed it to look good too. He thought it made his eyes ‘pop’ (whatever the heck that meant), but he knew M.J.’s opinion would seal the deal.

M.J. looked him up and down, nodding, “That looks so, _so_ good. Get it. Even if you don’t wear it at the gala, just get it.”

“Really?”

“Yep!” M.J. said clapping her hands together triumphantly, “And go try these suits on with it. We’re gonna make you look _so_ hot.”

* * *

In the end, Harry ends up buying three new dress-shirts and suit the colour of silver that happens to go perfectly with the blue shirt. Not to be outdone, M.J. also buys herself a new blouse and a jumpsuit too.

Lewis looked between the two of them, looking at the armful of bags. But to his credit, he maintained his professional disposition.

They visit four more stores before they tire of trying on clothes and collapse at the nearest coffee shop. Trying on clothes was exhausting. Every article that looked awful meant either a stab at the self-esteem or just straight-up disgust, whereas every great one meant the starting of a vigorous internal debate of price versus looking good. Of course, M.J. and Harry were experts, but even they got sick of shopping after a few hours.

Sipping at an iced-tea, Harry gets lost in his own thoughts, and is only shaken away by M.J.’s iron like grip on his arm.

Mary-Jane narrowed her eyes, “You’re glowing.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re _glowing_ , Harry. Who is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry said, looking anywhere but at his friend.

Mary-Jane squealed and squeezed his hands in her own, “Awwww, you’re glowing! C’mon, you _have_ to tell me who it is. I need to know who’s enchanted that icy heart of yours.”

“Icy heart?” Harry felt slightly offended.

“Now come on. You’ve been avoiding dating for months.” M.J. said, raising a well-manicured eyebrow at him; “Now who is it? It’s not someone from our group is it… not Miles? Ned?”

Harry pulled a face, “No. They’re great but no.”

Suddenly, M.J. gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth in shock, “Oh my god, it’s Flash, isn’t it?”

“No! Oh my god!”

Then a beautifully evil smile crossed her face, “Oh, I _know_ who it is-”

Harry’s breath escaped his lungs and he felt a cold sweat forming at the back of his neck. Oh god. She’d figured it out. How embarrassing. Of course, it _would_ be Harry who fell in love with the superhero. No, he couldn’t be normal and go for Miles, or even Flash. No, it had to be goddamn _Spider-Man_. He would never hear the end of it.

“- I can’t believe Peter finally made his move!” Mary-Jane cheered, pumping her fist into the air.

 

All the panic flooding Harry’s body was rapidly replaced by confusion. Wait, what? _What?_

“I knew he could do it! I kept telling him – go tell Harry how you feel! And he’d be like, ‘oh, no M.J. I could never do that’. And just. I KNEW IT.”

“Uhh, it’s not Peter.”

There was an awkward beat of silence before M.J. all but deflated into her seat, her chinks pink with embarrassment. What one earth? Why the heck was M.J. so invested in his friendship with Peter? Was that normal? Sure, Harry was invested in Gwen and M.J.’s relationship working out, but why was she invested in him and Peter?!

“Forget I said anything.” M.J. said quickly, waving her hand; “I was just being silly. Hahaha.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry said, despite the fact that this brain was now buzzing a mile a minute. What the heck was she talking about? Peter and he had always been close, but that didn’t mean anything. Hell, they hadn’t spoken properly in over a year (and no, that pitiful coffee date did _not_ count). What did she know that he didn’t? Friendship circles just drove him crazy sometimes. There were always secrets here and there.

“So, who is it?” M.J. said, trying again.

“What?”

“C’mon, Harry. I only ever see you this radiant when someone’s caught your eye!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean!”

“It’s nobody,” Harry said, stalwartly looking at the condensation on the side of his glass.

_“Harry.”_

“I mean it. I’m just being silly, and it’ll pass like it always does. Like that hot guy who sat next to me in my Introduction to Business Practices lecture last semester.”

M.J. looked crushed, and took his hand tightly in her own, “Awwww, Har. That’s not true. It could be different this time.”

“Thanks.” Harry muttered, clasping her hand like a lifeline; “Let’s not talk about me anymore. You still haven’t told me how your date with Gwen went last night. Tell me everything.”

_“Everything?”_

Harry’s cheeks turned red, “Forget it. Nope. Nope. Nope.”

“Too late! I’m gonna tell you everything!” M.J. sang.

* * *

 

On Monday, Norman forces him back to Oscorp, citing his need to “learn the ropes” and “do something with your life for goodness-sakes”. All of which goes down just as fine as usual (which is to say, Harry curses out Norman very colourfully in his head but keeps such thoughts to himself).

Thankfully, there’s less board-meetings this time and Harry is even allowed to tour through the labs and assist Drs Connors and Smythe with their work. Unfortunately, that means the other interns are also hanging around, which means Alistair isn’t fair behind. There’s something about his presence that sets Harry on edge.

Still, maintaining a sense of professionalism, Harry goes about his work, completing menial tasks around the labs while Alistair dogs his heels with a seemingly bottomless pit of questions, which Harry tries his best to answer.

“So… are you going to the gala on Saturday?”

“Sorry?”

“The gala.” Alistair asked again, playing with his hands; “Are you going? Maybe we could hang out or whatever. Chill out. Shoot the breeze. Yeah.”

Harry blinked as Alistair stumbled over his words, face turning as red as his hair. Weird. That is, both Alistair and his question. Of course, Harry was going to be at the gala – his father was hosting it (a fact which everyone in Manhattan knew, judging by the giant banners hanging from every available lamp-post and on the side of every bus).

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be there. I guess I’ll see you there?”

_“Really?_ I mean – yeah. Yeah. No big deal. I’ll see you there.”

Already immersed in the documents that Connors had handed him, Harry didn’t reply.

* * *

When the clock hits one, Dr Connors sets all the interns free and Harry all but sprints out of the laboratory, all too eager to escape Alistair’s prying questions and wandering fingers. He ducks out onto the balcony a few floors up, which he had quickly figured out years ago was almost always empty. It was one of his favourite spots, namely because Connors kept a few harmless plants specimens lined along the balcony, and, considering the view, it was a pretty amazing spot to do homework. Most importantly, however, Alistair wasn’t likely to find him here.

For a moment, he simply looks out over the city. The air is somewhat fresher all the way up here, yet he can still hear the unending chatter of the city below – sirens blaring, people rushing this way and that, and the occasional bird-song.

“Hey, Harry.”

Harry jumped a foot in the air, before swivelling around. A spike of dread ran through him, until he realised that he was looking at Spider-Man and not at Alistair’s leering face, or worse, Norman. To his annoyance, Spider-Man looked taller than ever, and his suit was still clinging to him in all the right places. Oh, no.

_“Don’t do that.”_

“What?”

“Sneak up on me!”

“Oh, uhhh, my bad?”

“Forget it,” Harry said shaking his head, “What are you even doing here?”

Spider-Man rubbed his elbow, “Oh, uhhh, I’d thought I’d stop by. See how you’re doing. That sort of thing.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding out all over my room.”

Spider-Man waved him off, “Just a few scratches. I’m fine, Har.”

There was that nickname again.

“How did you know I was up here?” Harry said, fighting down a blush.

“Uhhh, lucky guess?”

Harry nodded, but did not believe it for a second. OSCORP had hundreds of balconies and floors, and the building itself was like a labyrinth. Still, he didn’t think about it too much, at least not in that moment.

“Anyway, I got you a little something, so you should definitely follow me.”

With a wry grin, Harry took Spider-Man’s hand and let himself be led towards the far end of the balcony, only to stop quite suddenly less they both ruin the surprise laid out on the floor before them. It was a picnic blanket, laden with nibbles – cheeses, slices of meat, crackers, and a variety of other things.

Harry gaped.

“Ta da!” Spider-Man said with a dramatic flourish, urging Harry to sit beside him; “You took me under your wing, nestled me like a sick baby bird, let me bleed out on all your nice, expensive things, and I thought the least I can do is say thank you.”

“Okay, but this is-”

Spider-Man pressed a silencing finger to Harry’s lips, “Shhhh, nope! I’m going to stop you right there. Mister, you are going to enjoy all of this, guilt free, alright? ‘cause you’re the best, Har.”

* * *

Needless to say, Harry took his time sampling every little thing that Spider-Man had brought for him. Somehow, everything was exactly how he liked it – the salami was face-melting levels of hot, the olives were pitted, there was even a bit of that blue-vein cheese from that one delicatessen near his old-high school (he had stopped by after school many times just to purchase some). It was surreal. Maybe Spider-Man had mind-reading powers? It was certainly a possibility.

“Time for dessert!” Spider-Man sang, before procuring a box from behind his back.

Harry opened it up and gaped at the contents, “Seriously?”

“I heard you like pancakes.”

They weren’t just any old pancakes, however. No, these were from Petra’s Pancake Kitchen near Peter’s house, which also happened to be Harry’s all-time favourite destination for pancakes (he still went there sometimes, dragging Lewis across several blocks just to reach it). It was only the best pancake-kitchen of all time – which both Peter and Harry had readily agreed upon and had visited many times after school.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Where did you hear that?”

“You told me.” Spider-Man said quickly.

“I did?”

“Yep!”

After carefully dividing and devouring the pancakes between them, Harry very nearly collapsed on the picnic blanket. His stomach was full, the sky was blue, birds were singing, and an incredibly hot guy had just treated him to lunch. All in all, he was pretty content.

“You know, you never told me why that friend of yours is so lousy.”

Harry looked over at Spider-Man, surprised, “I didn’t think it was something you’d want to talk about.”

“I’m all ears. Everyone needs to vent every now and again.”

Harry took a deep breath, “Well, we’re childhood friends, we’ve been joined at the hip from the cradle, really. We used to do everything together, we’d go to the same schools, if I signed up for an afterschool activity, so would Pete, if I started bringing gel-pens to school, so would he. And we’d share everything too – he brought one gel-pen and I had an entire case of them, but we would just share them. I liked having someone to share with.”

A wave of what might have been fondness washed over him, before Harry quickly pushed it away completely. It hurt too much to think about.

“So, what happened?”

“We hit high school. He started acting all distant, he would take a LOT of sick-leave from school and I thought he might be in trouble or something, but he would never tell me about it. I wasn’t sure if maybe he was being bullied, or if he’d just gotten messed up with some bad people, or hell, maybe even substances. But he wouldn’t tell me. He just kept coming up with more and more excuses. And I put up with it. Then, in our senior year, I got sick of it. He ditched me for a new set of friends, he’d always run off with them. They were nice people, but I was never included. So, I cut ties with him completely.”

“He sounds like an idiot. That friends of yours.”

Upon hearing the harsh words, Harry’s stomach turned. It felt wrong for anyone else to criticise Peter’s actions. Spider-Man hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen everything. He didn’t have the whole story, yet he was so quick to pass judgement.

Harry smiled awkwardly, “People grow apart. It’s just hard, that’s all.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

“Not really. It took a while for me to think of it that way - I still get so angry sometimes.” Harry let out a shuddery breath, trying to keep himself together. There it was – that tell-tale lump in his throat and wetness in his eyes as he kept himself from crying. Fuck.

Just as silence threatened to take them over, Spider-Man shifted over the blanket and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry was suddenly overcome by the smell of cheap soap, freshly cleaned clothes, and pancakes. It was lovely.

“We’re not going to grow apart. I’m always going to be here for you, Harry.”

More than anything, Harry wanted to believe him.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> The pairing I always come back to. Classic Parksborn.  
> Please R&R!


End file.
